The Goblin Laugh

When I behold how men and women grindAnd grovel for some place of pomp or power,To shine and circle through a crumbling hour,Forgetting the large mansions of the mind,That are the rest and shelter of mankind;And when I see them come with wearied brainsPallid and powerless to enjoy their gains,I seem to hear a goblin laugh unwind.

And then a memory sends upon its billowThoughts of a singer wise enough to play,Who took life as a lightsome holiday:Oft have I seen him make his arm a pillow,Drink from his hand, and with a pipe of willowBlow a wild music down a woodland way.